


are we the same people (as before this came to light?)

by xfilessage



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Sylvain, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Title is from "Cat and Mouse" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, but like... right before the timeskip. certain events have already happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 20:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfilessage/pseuds/xfilessage
Summary: “You were… distracted? But…”Felix frowned, eyes hard and far away. “Five years. Today.”He’d only said three words, but Sylvain didn’t need to press for more. He knew.





	are we the same people (as before this came to light?)

It was a normal day at Garreg Mach Monastery… at least as normal as things could be when Dimitri was gone, and Edelgard was the Flame Emperor, and Sylvain’s life was swaying on a precipice. 

There was only one month of classes left, and though Byleth and a number of students were nowhere to be found, Hanneman and Manuela had banded together to guide the remaining students to graduation. But even those who had elected to stay felt the absence of their peers. Things were fractured, and it was ever clearer the more people tried to ignore it.

Sylvain was sitting on a bench outside the Blue Lions classroom, letting ink drip from his quill onto the essay that had been due days ago. Manuela and Hanneman had been lenient with the deadline, but no matter how many times Sylvain tried to write theoretically about war, the more he thought about the very real one blossoming just outside the monastery’s walls.

Just then, a familiar voice rang out from the direction of the training grounds. “ _ Fuck! _ ”

Sylvain was on his feet in an instant, knocking his pot of ink onto the ground. That was Felix’s voice. Chances are, it was nothing… but as of late, Sylvain’s chances had been pretty bad.

Felix was standing in the middle of the training grounds, sword lying discarded a few feet away from him. He was staring down at a deep gash on his hand as if the blood running between his fingers was an inconvenience.

“Felix!” exclaimed Sylvain, racing over. He reached into his pocket for something to staunch the blood, and produced a handkerchief from Goddess-knew-where— simple white, luckily, as Sylvain knew Felix would have given him a few cuts of his own if he’d taken out anything pink or frilly from some girl. 

Felix barely reacted as Sylvain pressed the handkerchief to his palm, only huffed and turned away.

“What happened?” Sylvain asked.

“Sword slipped,” muttered Felix. “What does it matter?”

“Because Felix Hugo Fraldarius doesn’t slip up with a sword,” said Sylvain. 

Felix’s lips parted; Sylvain could see him struggling not to disagree. It was his nature to be contradictory, but to disagree would be to say that yes, Felix Hugo Fraldarius made mistakes. He didn’t, which was why this whole situation was so strange. 

“Hold this down for a sec,” said Sylvain, and folded Felix’s fingers over the handkerchief to keep the pressure steady. There was a roll of bandages on a shelf by the door, which Sylvain grabbed. Felix was oddly compliant when he returned, allowing Sylvain to take back the handkerchief and give his wound a last wipe before bandaging it. 

“So what happened?” asked Sylvain again as he wrapped the bandage around Felix’s palm. “And no bullshit this time, ‘kay?”

They were close enough that he could see Felix’s throat bob as he swallowed. “Just… a little distracted.”

Several things were wrong with that statement; first, that Felix had been  _ distracted,  _ and second, that he had admitted it. “You were… distracted? But…”

Felix frowned, eyes hard and far away. “Five years. Today.”

He’d only said three words, but Sylvain didn’t need to press for more. He knew. And he also knew he’d fucked up by not remembering. 

Yes, there was a lot to worry about at the moment. Fódlan had been cut at its stitches, turning friends into foes. People Sylvain cared about were missing or worse. The entire world was upside down, but that was no excuse. He should have remembered the date of the Tragedy of Duscur, when Felix had lost his brother. Especially when it had been exactly five years since then.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m… I’m just sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity,” growled Felix. “I just wanted you to know. So you didn’t think I was losing my edge.”

“I wouldn’t think that,” said Sylvain. “You know that, right? I may tease you sometimes, but I know how strong you are. Stronger than… well, anyone I know.” He smiled. “Stronger than me, at least.”

Felix was silent for a long moment. “Are you gonna finish that?” he asked finally, nodding toward his hand. Sylvain looked down and realized that he had stopped winding the bandage around, just holding Felix’s hand and feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse under his skin.

“Sorry,” replied Sylvain, heat sparking in his cheeks. He finished bandaging Felix’s hand and pinned it. “There you go. Good as new.”

Felix didn’t say anything. He also didn’t take his hand back.

Sylvain took a step forward. Felix didn’t move.

He still didn’t move when Sylvain carefully wrapped his arms around him.

As kids, Felix had been desperate for affection. Always hanging off Dimitri’s arm, hiding behind Ingrid, burying his face into Sylvain’s chest as he cried. He had been a different person then. These days, it felt like a strong breeze would push him away. 

This was the closest Sylvain had felt to him in five years, and he didn’t want it to end.

Felix’s arms were limp by his sides, his breathing an erratic heave against Sylvain’s chest. The silence went on longer and longer, until Sylvain could feel it bubbling up inside of him. He opened his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ , but he hadn’t even formed the first syllable when Felix muttered, “Don’t. Please.”

His voice was brittle, wavering. Sylvain closed his eyes. The urge to ruin things as he always did was electric, but he forced himself to be quiet and statue-still.  _ For Felix,  _ he thought. Everything inside of him calmed at the notion. Sylvain would have held Felix for a hundred years if that was how long he needed.  _ That _ he knew for sure.

Finally, Felix shifted and cleared his throat. Sylvain stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets in an attempt to look casual. “Are you ok--” he began, but caught himself; asking Felix if he was okay was tantamount to stepping on fractured ice above a freezing lake. “You… your hand. Is it all right?”

Felix nodded. He looked hazy, those honey-brown eyes somewhere far away. He was strong, to a fault. Maybe he’d needed to be far away in order to have allowed Sylvain to hold him like that. But the fact that he still needed physical comfort meant the Felix that Sylvain had grown up wanting to protect was still in there somewhere. Suffocating under layers of trauma and pain, but he was there. Alive.

Sylvain wanted to step back in, to hold Felix again, to kiss him until all of his walls crumbled down. Instead, he said, “Good,” and turned toward the door. 

Before he could leave, however, Felix spoke from behind him. “Sylvain?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

Felix’s eyes were focused now, set on Sylvain with all of his usual intensity and none of the vitriol. “Thank you.”

Sylvain couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Anytime, Felix. Really.” 

With that, he turned around and left the training grounds. That smile stayed plastered on his face the entire way, even as he stepped around the puddle of ink that looked too much like blood.

Maybe the Felix that he loved wasn’t so far away after all. 


End file.
